All Work and No Play
by Halcris
Summary: Word of a planned assassination. But who is the intended victim ? There is a wide choice.


Word of a planned assassination. But who is the intended victim ? There is a wide choice.

**All Work and No Play.**

The two cars raced into the yard at C.I.5's Headquarters, and slipped neatly into two adjacent parking slots. The occupants emerged simultaneously.

"You cheated !" accused Doyle.

"No, I didn't," retorted Bodie.

As the two agents frequently arrived for work at similar times, a kind of rivalry had developed, a competition to see which of them would be first through the gateway. A foolish game, perhaps, but easily understandable in men whose lives were led in such a perilous uncertain fashion.

This morning Doyle had led most of the way as they neared base, but at the last moment Bodie had taken advantage of a totally empty street, to put on a burst of speed, and take a diversion the wrong side of a traffic island, enabling him to shoot in front.

As they climbed the stairs to their boss's office, Doyle tried to get his own back by firing at Bodie some of the cryptic clues to the crossword that had occupied his mind as he ate his breakfast. To give Bodie his due, he was getting most of them, as his wits were quite as sharp as his mate's. As they reached Cowley's door, and knocked, Doyle shot a last one.

"Nine letters, - a gun present, one of three !," he said.

A peremptory order, bidding them in, didn't give Bodie time to reply. Cowley was gazing at a map on the wall, and consulting papers which appeared to be lists. He got straight to the point.

"Birton," he said. "What do you know of it ?"

Doyle replied immediately.

"A purpose-built Conference Centre, down in Wiltshire," he said.

"A large house, extensive grounds, an electrified perimeter fence, and a very large permanent military presence."

"Right," said Cowley. "There's an important conference there in three days time."

"Are we involved ?" asked Doyle, looking surprised. "There's a whole army there already."

"Not another 'nursemaid' job," protested Bodie.

Cowley silenced him with a fierce glare, and continued.

"We've had reliable information that there will be an assassination attempt," he said.

"Which delegate ?," asked Doyle.

"That's just it, we don't know," said Cowley. "There are twenty delegates altogether, each one representing some group angling for control of events at the eastern end of the Mediterranean. A very explosive mix, as you can well imagine."

"And we don't know which one" said Bodie. "That makes it very difficult."

Cowley handed each man a paper.

"These are lists of all the delegates," he said. "You've got two days to find out all you can about them, background, connections, allies and enemies, anything that might give us a clue to the likely target."

The two men ran their eyes down the lists, until Cowley barked at them.

"Why are you still here ? Get on with it !."

Both men shot out of the door almost as quickly as they'd shot through the gateway earlier. They scanned the papers they held.

"Have you seen these names !" exclaimed Bodie. "I can't begin to pronounce some of them !"

"Well, what did you expect ?" retorted Doyle. "The Middle East ! You didn't think they'd be called Smith or Jones, did you ?"

"Where do we start ?," said Bodie.

"Records Office, I think," said Doyle. "You start at the top of the list, and I'll work up from the bottom, and we'll see what we find."

For the next couple of days the two men covered a tremendous amount of paper-work. They checked records, newspaper articles, broadcast bulletins, anything and everything, to try to build up a background picture of each of the named delegates, who proved to be a very varied collection.

Late on the afternoon before the conference was due to start, they took their findings to Cowley.

"Well ?," he asked.

"We couldn't find a sure bet," said Bodie. "Between us, we've picked out at least seven 'possibles'."

"But we're not even sure of those," added Doyle. "We could have missed something."

Cowley studied their lists, with the 'possibles' marked in red.

"I agree with at least five of those," he said at last, "but I'm not totally positive about any of them. I'm afraid we're playing it blind."

He issued his final orders.

"You two and the other men get down there tonight. Keep your eyes and ears open. I'll be down in the morning."

Bodie and Doyle had already packed all they'd need, and they set off on the long drive to the Conference Centre, arriving late in the evening, and settling into the rooms allotted to them.

First light saw them wandering round the extensive grounds, assessing the many defensive measures installed. Then they returned inside, to familiarise themselves with the layout of the large purpose-built house. They compared notes.

"I'd say nothing could get in undetected," declared Doyle. "The security is very tight."

"Could be in already," said Bodie gloomily. "There's dozens of staff people."

"Surely they are all carefully vetted," said Doyle.

"Then there's all the aides and bodyguards of the delegates," continued Bodie. "There's a huge entourage."

"That's a big word for you," teased Doyle.

"It's a big lot of potential assassins !," said Bodie forcefully.

"Well," said Doyle, "We can't do anything more yet. Let's go and get some breakfast, before Cowley gets here."

The various extra police and security men, who had been drafted in for the occasion, with the exception of the top men, had been instructed to use the large army mess-hall for their meals. So they strolled across the grounds and went in.

As they entered, Bodie brightened up visibly, as he spotted that several of the NAAFI staff serving the meals were attractive young ladies. He turned on his considerable charm, and a pleasing little light banter ensued, as the ladies concerned, used to dealing with the permanent military presence, responded to his cheeky remarks in a friendly manner.

But not everyone was so welcoming ! The room was fairly full, so the pair made their way to a small vacant table, next to a group of soldiers. One man, wearing the double chevron of a corporal, swung round to address them.

"Big guns from London ?" he said sneeringly, " brought in to show us how to do things."

Doyle saw Bodie re-act, and nodded warningly at him. They'd met this before, but they were here to do their job, and they didn't need trouble. They ignored him and got on with their meal.

The big man repeated his remark. Out of the corner of his eye, Doyle saw one of the men at the table try to remonstrate with him, but he only got snarled at for his pains. Bodie had turned his back on the group, but Doyle could see he was annoyed.

Fortunately, at that moment, a sergeant appeared in the doorway and bellowed an order. The group of soldiers got up and left, but not before the corporal had managed to severely jolt the table the two C.I.5 men were sitting at, causing a slight spillage of their tea.

Doyle saw Bodie tense, and whipped out a restraining hand.

"Don't do it !" he mouthed, and Bodie subsided with a scowl.

Bodie grumbled all the way back to the house. Doyle admonished him amiably.

"Don't let it get to you, Bodie," he said. "We've met this before. We're on an important job, remember ! Just ignore him, - he'll get tired of it if we don't rise."

Once back in the house, they met up with Cowley, who had no further information to give them. They spent their day moving about among the delegates, and their many followers, trying to assess, by looking and listening, which one was the most likely intended victim.

When they met up in the evening, Bodie was still grumbling.

"What a nasty argumentative lot they are !" he complained. "Have you seen them, glaring at each other ? I'm getting fed up with this. Why can't we just go home, and leave them to kill each other off ?

I'm sure they would, given half a chance," he added plaintively.

Doyle smiled at his mate, knowing that he didn't really mean the words he was saying. Although he was complaining, he would do his job, defending them all from danger if he could, even at the risk of his own safety. But it was frustrating, being no nearer to discovering the intended target.

The following morning brought a break-through of sorts. A delegate called Lambeti, from a small protectorate, came to Cowley, and handed him a slip of paper, which had been pushed under his door during the night. It had some Arabic writing on it, and the word SOON in large letters.

"What does this say ?," asked Cowley, pointing to the Arabic.

"Just 'soon', like the other," replied the man.

He hurried off, as a meeting was about to start, leaving Cowley and his men eyeing the slip of paper.

"Well, at last we've got a hint," said Bodie.

"I don't think so," Doyle contradicted his friend.

Cowley threw him a curious look. "Explain," he said.

"Well," said Doyle. "No 'pro' would do that, indicating the target, would he ? Also, I can't think of anything about Lambeti which would make him a target, - he's very small fry !"

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Doyle." said Cowley. "I think this is just a 'red herring'."

"But it does tell us one thing," continued Doyle. "Either the assassin is already in the house somehow, or he has an accomplice who is, and could let him in at any time."

Cowley mentally thanked the lucky stars that had enabled him to recruit such astute men into his organization. He needed brains as well as brawn, and this team gave it to him.

"Extra vigilance, then," he said. "We need to find some answers soon."

Because of the need for constant alertness and readiness, Bodie and Doyle could no longer afford to take their 'breaks' together, so they had to go for meals separately. Bodie came off best in this, for he was lucky enough to avoid the times when the main body of soldiers were there, and so he was having a happy time exchanging repartee with the girls serving the meals, who responded freely to his impudent charm.

Doyle, on the other hand, kept encountering the group of soldiers, which included the corporal who seemed determined to be objectionable. He was finding it increasingly difficult to follow his own advice, and ignore him. He would dearly have loved to have a go at him, to shut him up, but the job came first, and he wasn't going to jeopardise that. But it made for very uncomfortable meal breaks, as the corporal was getting louder and more offensive every time.

Bodie was completely unaware of his mate's problem, as Doyle said nothing to him about it, purposely, for Bodie was quite capable of doing something stupid, and he'd prefer to avoid that.

But Cowley heard about it, in a very unusual way ! It happened during a coffee-break in a morning discussion session. Cowley had taken his coffee to a settee against the wall, hoping to drink it in peace, while still keeping a close eye on the delegates and aides filling the room.

A man in military uniform came and sat down beside him.

"Mr. Cowley ?" he asked, and introduced himself as Captain Richards, in current charge of the military detail on the base.

"I've been hoping for a quiet word with you, sir, strictly 'off the record', though.

Cowley was rather surprised. He had recognised the man, of course, from earlier briefing sessions, but hadn't had any one-to-one conversation with him.

"It's a bit tricky," continued the Captain. "You see, I've heard 'on the grapevine', that one of my men has been pestering one of yours."

Cowley looked surprised. He'd heard nothing of this.

"Yes," continued Richards. "My man, his name is Stanton; he's a fine soldier, sir. He took to army training very well, and he's by far the best in his group. He's recently been made up to corporal, and I'm afraid it's gone to his head. I'm pretty sure he's bullying some of his platoon, but as none of them will file a complaint, I can't do anything about it, yet. But I've heard he's pestering one of your men, making offensive remarks, and doing his best to pick a fight."

Cowley was interested. "Do you know which one ?," he asked.

"Don't know his name," replied the Captain. "Chap with dark curly hair."

"Ah, Doyle," supplied Cowley, with an inward smile to himself.

"Is he any good ?," asked Richards curiously.

Cowley permitted himself a quick grin. "Let's just say, I'm glad he's on our side."

"Stanton's physically bigger than Doyle," continued Richards, "but I know your men are very well-trained, too. Do you think your man could take him ?"

"Probably," replied Cowley, "but he won't ! Two years ago, he would have responded instantly, but since he's been with me, he's learned restraint. We're here to do a job, and he won't compromise that."

"Pity," said Captain Richards. "It might do Stanton a lot of good if someone took him down a peg or two."

The bell went then, for the session to resume, so both men returned to duty.

Cowley pondered over what he'd just heard. He watched Doyle, and noted that he came back from meal breaks, tight-lipped and rather silent.

He said nothing to him, however, and nothing to Bodie either, for he knew that that one was quite capable of charging in and making the whole situation worse. He did, however, speak to a couple of the other men he had with him. He told them to keep an eye on Doyle, and to report straight to him, if it looked as if things were getting out of hand.

They were still making very little progress in finding the identity of the assassin's target. None of the delegates particularly stood out as likely. Cowley asked for reports regularly, but they had little to tell him.

At one such meeting, Doyle ventured a tentative idea.

"Maybe I'm getting paranoid, "he said, "but I think I noticed something a little odd."

"Explain," demanded Cowley.

"Well," said Doyle, "it was during one of the coffee-breaks. Several waitresses were moving about with trays. One delegate stood up rather suddenly, and pushed his chair back. He bumped into one of the girls, almost knocking her over. Several cups and saucers went to the floor, but she stopped the coffee-pot from falling. Nothing unusual in that, maybe, but I've never seen a waitress move that fast before. Her reflexes were exceptional! I had a feeling, no more, that they were too good, as if she were well-trained, but maybe not as a waitress.

She might be the inside accomplice !"

"Hm," said Cowley, frowning as he considered the idea, "Not entirely conclusive, but we've responded to your instincts in the past, Doyle, and had considerable success. Set up a watch on her, but very, very discreet. We don't want to alert her. We want the main man"

It was quickly arranged, with short and frequently changed surveillance shifts, to try to avoid being too noticeable. It was pure coincidence that Doyle, taking his turn with the others, was the one who saw the girl, clad in dark jacket and trousers, slip from her room just after midnight, and sneak surreptitiously down the back stairs.

He followed her carefully as she left the building, and made her way across the grounds towards the army quarters. The night was dark and cloudy, with no revealing moonlight, which was helpful, as Doyle followed cautiously, for there wasn't a great deal of cover.

She stopped close to one of the barrack-rooms, and gave a low whistle. Something moved in the shadows, and a man emerged. She moved towards him and spoke rapidly.

Crouched beside the steps leading to the barrack-room door, Doyle strained his ears to hear the conversation. It was brief but vital.

But as he moved slightly, to ease his cramped position, his foot touched a beer-can, carelessly discarded in the corner by the steps. It rattled loudly.

With a snarl, the man he was watching leapt towards the sound. As Doyle rose to meet his attacker, he caught the merest glimpse of an up-raised arm, holding something dark, before he was struck heavily, and everything went black.

The door of the barracks suddenly opened, and light streamed down the steps to the path. The soldier, who was sneaking out for a quick smoke, saw a man sprawled on the path, with another bending over him. He quickly raised the alarm. As he dashed down the steps, the assailant disappeared into the darkness.

When Cowley came down to breakfast, he found a soldier waiting for him.

"Dr. Williams compliments, sir," he said. "Would you come down to the Medical Centre? We've got one of your men there, - he's been hurt."

Cowley quickly collected Bodie, who had been looking around for his mate, and they followed the soldier

.The Medical Centre on the base was only a small unit, six beds in all. It only dealt with minor stuff. Any more serious cases were quickly transferred out. The only permanent member of staff was the doctor.

The nurses were men drawn temporarily, as needed, from the soldiers stationed on the base, those with a little medical knowledge.

They had no special uniform, just a pale blue armband, which excused them from basic duties and exercises, as long as their assistance was required.

At this moment, the ward was quite full, five of the beds being in use, not a usual situation.

Two were occupied by men with minor injuries, and two more by men with suspected appendicitis, who would be shipped out later in the afternoon.

There were three 'nurses' on duty, doing various tasks about the ward.

Dr. Williams met the two C.I.5 men, and led them to the fifth occupied bed at the end of the ward, next to the window. This one held Doyle. He was lying completely still, eyes closed, with a nasty red mark, already darkening to a bruise, on the left of his forehead.

"He's taken a hefty whack," said Dr. Williams, "and he hasn't come round yet, but he should do so soon."

The pair gazed with some concern at the still figure. Cowley sat down by the side of the bed, while Bodie went to stand by the window. Gazing out, he struggled to contain the rise of the anger he always felt when his mate was hurt.

Cowley lifted his eyes to watch him. As he did so, a tiny whisper reached his ears.

"Don't re-act, sir."

Cowley tensed, but avoided looking at Doyle. The whisper came again.

"Get Bodie to create a diversion, draw the nurses out of ward."

Cowley gave an almost imperceptible nod. He stood up and moved slowly round to stand beside Bodie. He, too, spoke in a whisper.

"Don't look !," he ordered. "Doyle's faking it. He wants a diversion to draw the nurses away."

Bodie stiffened, but made no reply. The fingers of his hand, resting on the windowsill, moved to form a silent O.K. signal. He waited for a moment, then turned and walked out of the ward, without glancing towards the bed, forcing himself to adopt a leisurely pace.

Cowley resumed his seat, easing his chair round slightly to shield Doyle from the eyes of the doctor, busy at his desk in the corner of the room.

For a few moments nothing happened. Then there came a clatter and a bang from the corridor outside, and lots of yelling and shouting.

The three nurses, soldiers after all, left what they were doing, and dashed out to investigate. The doctor raised his head from his paper-work, stood up and followed them.

Cowley turned to the man on the bed. Without opening his eyes, Doyle spoke rapidly.

"I followed the girl," he said. "She met a man. I heard what they were saying, and then he attacked me. I'm surprised he didn't kill me," he added.

"He was disturbed," said Cowley, "I'll explain later. Go on !."

"She said, 'room 18, second floor', and he answered 'Friday evening'." said Doyle.

"Splendid work," congratulated Cowley.

"But the attacker knows I heard, that's why I'm playing dead, for I caught a glimpse of a blue armband. He's one of the nurses, a good cover. As I see it, as today's only Thursday, he's now got two choices. Either he silences me before I tell anyone, or he brings his attempted assassination forward."

At this point, they heard and saw the doctor and the nurses coming back in at the far door.

"Keep it up a bit longer, can you ?" asked Cowley very quietly, and Doyle nodded with a tiny movement.

Cowley added an urgent whisper. "I'll get things organized, but stay alert and be careful."

He stood up as Bodie followed the men back into the ward, and came towards him. Cowley said nothing, but his eyes flashed a warning, and Bodie remained silent.

The doctor came to stand by the bed, and gazed at Doyle, who was lying still, eyes firmly closed.

"Still out, is he ?", he asked concernedly. "He must be more concussed than I thought. But don't worry, we'll look after him, and I'll send you word when he does wake up."

It took quite an effort for Cowley and Bodie to walk away and leave Doyle. As soon as they were well clear of the Medical Centre, Cowley brought Bodie up to date.

"Room 18, second floor," mused Bodie, thinking hard. "That's Colonel Fernandi !," he exclaimed. "I'm not surprised. He's had a lot to say already, and he wields quite a bit of influence."

They hurried on towards the house. Cowley was using his radio, rapidly speaking to his other men, and making plans.

Doyle concentrated on lying still, and keeping his eyes tightly shut. Cowley had been obliged to take his I.D. and his gun. Well, you couldn't very well leave them with an unconscious man. But he felt oddly under-dressed without his weapon. Knowing that one of the three men he was surreptitiously watching with fractionally raised eyelids, would try to kill him as soon as he thought he had an opportunity, was a little un-nerving.

The three nurses, drawn from different sections of the troops stationed at the base, hardly knew each other, so they weren't very interested when another man joined them, dressed, as they were, in uniform with an armband. But Doyle saw him, and recognised him; one of their own, a good man called Morris, and felt re-assured. He wasn't totally on his own !

The doctor came and looked at him frequently, checking his temperature, pulse and blood-pressure, and seemed genuinely concerned at his patient's failure to rouse.

But Doyle persisted with his pretence. He put on a good act, occasionally moving restlessly, and uttering small moans, to keep the doctor wondering.

He was very thankful, that, as they were expecting him to wake up at any minute, they hadn't got round to actually putting him into bed. He was still fully dressed, apart from his jacket, which he could see hanging on the back of a chair, and his shoes, which, he guessed, were probably on the floor under the bed

The attack, when it came, was earlier than he had expected. He'd half thought that the man would wait till evening when the lights on the ward would be turned down. But his enemy, as most agents were, was an opportunist.

The ambulance had turned up to take the two suspected appendicitis cases to the nearest army base hospital.

The doctor and two of the nurses were supervising the removal of the two men. The other two appeared to be occupied in stripping the now vacated beds. One moved up the ward towards the shelf where the fresh bed-linen was piled. But he only stopped there long enough to pick up a pillow, and came swiftly onwards towards the end bed.

One hand twitched the curtain round behind him. But Doyle was ready, and as the pillow designed to smother him came down towards his face, he rolled away and off the bed. He landed on the floor, but was swiftly on his feet to meet the attack from the man, who leapt onto the bed, and then jumped onto him.

The lack of space by the bed hindered both men as they fought for supremacy. Doyle winced as a heavy army boot came down on his bare foot. His adversary was very powerful, and he was having a job to deflect the blows aimed at him. But help was at hand. Morris appeared suddenly, pulling back the curtain. He jumped up onto the bed. His gun was in his hand, but reversed. He didn't want to risk a shot that might injure Doyle as the two men wrestled back and forth. He waited for the right moment, and then brought his arm down hard. The bogus nurse collapsed across the bed.

"What kept you ?," joked Doyle, as soon as he could find enough breath to speak.

"I was calling reinforcements," said Morris with a grin.

There was the sound of pounding feet, and several men raced up the ward, with Bodie well in the lead.

"You all right, Ray ?," he said anxiously, as his mate suddenly dropped down out of sight on the other side of the bed.

The curly head bobbed up again at once.

"Yeah, I'm fine," replied Doyle. "Just looking for my shoes, my feet are cold."

The unconscious agent was securely hand-cuffed and carted away. He would go to the Interrogation Centre in London to be identified and questioned.

"We collected the girl, too," Bodie told Doyle, as they strolled down the ward together.

As they neared the door, they found Cowley there, endeavouring to explain to a bewildered doctor just what had been going on.

He threw a quick glance at Doyle, re-assuring himself that his man was unhurt, then issued his orders.

"I hope that's our job here done," he said, "But until the conference ends, we must maintain our vigilance, in case there are any other accomplices."

All his men continued their watchfulness, but their suspicions were unfounded. The rest of Thursday and all of Friday passed without any further incident. Saturday morning saw a formal closing session, and by late afternoon almost all of the delegates had departed along with their various entourages.

Bodie and Doyle had all their belongings packed and stowed in the car. They had both relaxed, as they were now officially off-duty, with the added bonus of a Sunday off, a surprising and unexpected gift from Cowley.

All that remained was to get something to eat before they set off for the long drive home.

"I suppose we've got to go to the canteen," said Doyle "We'll probably encounter that pain of a corporal again."

"So what," said Bodie. "We're officially off-duty now, remember."

"So we are !," agreed Doyle, and a glint came into his eyes.

But when they entered the canteen, the group of soldiers wasn't present. So they selected their meal in peace, and took it to a table by the window.

To his surprise Doyle felt almost disappointed, and Bodie certainly was. He was sure of his mate's ability, and having heard what Doyle had had to put up with from the man, he would have liked to have seen him wipe the floor with the cocky corporal.

They had just finished, and were preparing to leave, when the doors opened and dozens of soldiers poured in, including the group led by Corporal Stanton. They filled the seats near to the C.I.5 men, and Stanton started at once with his taunting remarks.

Doyle stood it for a bit, but Bodie was grinning as he saw the anger rising in his mate.

Then Stanton spotted the bruise on Doyle's forehead, now darkening to a technicolour patch of purple and dingy yellow.

"Oh, look," he said sneeringly. "Curly-top has bumped his little head."

Suddenly Doyle stood up, took off his jacket deliberately, and hung it on the back of his chair.

He stripped off his gun and holster, handing it to Bodie, then turned to confront Stanton.

"Right," he said, "You've been itching to take me on, ever since we got here. Now, try it !"

Stanton was on his feet, grinning evilly. Knowing he was well-trained, and having a size and weight advantage, he was anxious to show off his skill, and impress the rest of his group.

He waded in with enthusiasm, but was rather taken aback to find his every move countered, and his attacks avoided. His opponent was quicker and more agile than he had expected, and he soon found that he'd received more blows than he'd landed.

This riled him, of course, and his attacks became wilder. He charged in again, only to find his adversary using his power against him with neat moves. He suddenly found himself landing flat on his back. His rage increased as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw smiles appearing on some of the faces of his watching platoon. He was up in a flash, charged in again, and to his great surprise, was once more dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

By this time, the audience had grown, and there was much cheering and shouting going on, with quite a few voices encouraging Doyle, for Stanton was far from popular.

Scrambling to his feet, Stanton came again, but this time Doyle moved in under the flailing fists, with a move from his kick-boxing skills, and this time his man didn't get up.

Doyle turned away, thinking it was all over. But Stanton, crazy at being so humiliated, re-acted badly. His hand went to an inside pocket.

Bodie let out a yell, and yanked his friend violently sideways, as a vicious-looking flick-knife flew past them, and stuck, quivering, in a cupboard door.

At this moment a figure appeared in the canteen doorway. It was Captain Richards, flanked by two Military policemen. On his order, the Redcaps moved forward to apprehend Stanton, while the rest of the room suddenly became silent and 'at attention'.

Bodie sent a fierce whisper Doyle's way. "I think this might be a good moment to disappear," he said.

Doyle nodded, and grabbing their belongings, the pair shot out of the other door, and hared across the grounds to where their car was parked. Their passes got them out through the main gate without any trouble, and within a few minutes they were back on the main road, taking them towards London and home ground.

Bodie was driving, as his mate had made the trip down, so Doyle could relax.

"I've just remembered," he said. "You didn't answer the last cryptic crossword clue I gave you."

"No, I didn't get time to," agreed Bodie. "Something about a gun, wasn't it ?"

"Yes," said Doyle, and settled comfortably back in his seat, ready to enjoy the long drive home.

.


End file.
